


When Darkness Descends

by Harley_Quinn13



Category: Fantasy - Fandom
Genre: Crushes, Death, Evil, F/M, Knights - Freeform, Not Much Romance, Other, Peace, So much death, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, War, elven warriors, hobbits are called halflings in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 01:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harley_Quinn13/pseuds/Harley_Quinn13
Summary: Mystcaria was in an era of peace, until the king received word of elves on the border. Guards and knights report to the different villages and some on the treacherous border. Why had the elves emerged again? How many must die before the realm of Mystcaria achieves peace once again?





	

   From the view of a mountainside, through all of the clouds, it is said that a person could see all of Mystcaria. The human villages, the hills where Halflings flocked to, the mines where the dwarves spent their days working, and the forests. No one dare live near, nor enter, these forests, for the warriors who guarded the borders had passed many years ago.

  There was an overall sense of peace within the realm. The humans went about their day, trading their livestock and vegetables with the dwarves and Halflings for gems and clothing. The children played in the open fields and in the streams that they were allowed in. Certain streams were used for certain daily tasks. This was a universal, unspoken rule throughout the realm. All races were aware of it. The stream from the North Mountain was used for drinking water, while the Eastwood River was used for bathing, and finally the Whinny River was for bathing. However, there were whispers of an elusive and ancient race revealing themselves again. This would most certainly put an end to the peace.

  The king approached his throne, silence had overcome the room as soon as he entered the room. The upper-class people of Mystcaria were called to the castle for an important meeting that the king called for himself. The upper-class really consisted of cops and guards, people who attempt to keep the peace and serve the realm. Everyone in the room was concerned, had something happen that they were not aware of?

  With a heavy sigh and the look of dread, the king sat on his silver and purple throne. His hands were placed on both armrests, gripping the sides loosely. Everyone stared at him, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to announce why he had called for this meeting. Their king rose his head, his green eyes scanning the room, looking over every last person.

  “I can see that you wish to know why I called you here.” He began. A soft murmur erupted from within the crowd, but gradually died down as the king raised his right hand. He stood, looking about the room once more.

  “The elves have emerged.” He announced finally. The room burst into a series of gasps and whispers. One of the guards behind him stepped forward, banging his sword on the ground, signaling the room to quiet down.

  “We do not know why this has happened. All we know is that our people must be protected.” The king told them. A few people in the crowd nodded. He sighed, looking to his side at his guards.

  “I request that you all go to your assigned positions. Those skillful enough…” He stopped. He knew that even the most skillful knights and guards would be no match for what lies at the border between the woods and where the common-folk lived.

  “Those skillful enough will be positioned at the border. Our Master at Arms has already ranked you and determined your position.” The king proclaimed. There were more gasps from within the crowd. No one was offended when they found out they weren’t going to the border, as a matter of fact, most were relieved and felt sorry for those who were considered good enough for the border. Being assigned a position on the border was considered a death sentence, especially in this time of peace when guards on the border would have to disguise themselves, leaving themselves bare and vulnerable to the creatures that dwelled within.

  Verance, a knight, was lucky enough to be assigned a position amongst the Halflings. They were lively folk who loved food, friends, and family. The three ‘F’s’ they liked to call it. It being their way of life. Verance always enjoyed visiting their little villages. He would often travel here to buy his clothing and rugs. Halflings were expert weavers and seamstresses, they created everyday cloth items as well as they cooked.

  As he rode into the hills, he took note of the Halfling on his porch, smoking a pipe. The small man waved at him, and Verance gave a small wave back. The small, carefree Halfling children ran alongside his horse before crossing in front. His horse panicked at the sight of these extremely small creatures. The horse stood on its hind legs, waving its front ones in front of him. Verance’s eyes widened as he hung on tighter, petting his horse’s neck.

  “Woah. Easy Arwen. Easy.” He calmed the horse. The children ran off, screaming. Clearly terrified by the horse’s outburst. As he travelled deeper into their lands, he noticed more stables and pens. Doors had become more common within the hills as well as small stairs leading to such doors. By the time he made it into the village, night had already descended onto the realm. The lanterns and torches lit up the small village, giving a soft glow to every door and road. The fire from the torches were heard from the narrow, stone road; the cackling became a familiar sound by the time he found the only inn.

  He hopped off of Arwen, tying her to the low fence before heading toward the house in the hill. There was a single oak tree that grew from the top of the home, providing shade to all that stood on the doorstep. Verance knocked on the door, expecting someone to answer, instead, he was met with silence.

  “I believe you are looking for the one who lends this place to wanderers.” An elderly voice mentioned. Verance looked down to see a shriveled, old Halfling. She wore a faded pink shawl with a faded, yellow, collard dress underneath. Her curly, grey hair was up in a bun above her head and had streaks of white running through it. Verance gave the woman a friendly smile.

  “Yes, would you know where to find them?” He inquired. The elderly lady chuckled lightheartedly.

  “Well, you are speaking to her. Do you wish to spend the night?” She asked. Verance took out a small pouch.

  “How much for the place? I wish to purchase it.” He asked. She waved a hand in front of her.

  “It is not for sale.” She told him sternly. Verance frowned.

  “I need a place to stay…” He told her.

  “A week. If someone comes by and needs the inn, then you must leave.” She told him. Verance turned away from the elderly Halfling. As he mounted Arwen once more, he asked her where to find an empty home.

  “You won’t find one, all of us built our homes. This is the only inn.” She explained. Verance turned his horse and rolled his eyes as soon as he was out of sight. The lady was quite an annoyance, but he was sure that he could find somewhere else to stay.

  After taking all night searching for an inn, he eventually came to the conclusion that he would have to go to the outskirts of the village to find an uninhabited hill to live in. He went to find a shovel, eventually borrowing one from that same woman for fifty sapphires (Verance had come to the conclusion that she was a greedy, old Halfling to be avoided) and began to work.

  His shovel plunged into the soft soil, pulling it up along with the grass. The smells of pure Earth filled the air as he continued to dig his own house, which he was sure he wasn’t going to need for more than a month. Possibly he would rent it out when he had no use for it anymore, and let those who wished to purchase it from him do so, unlike the lady from earlier.

  At noon, he sat upon the hill, watching the clouds roll past the North Mountain. Legend says that a warlock was banished to the mountain by the king after killing his wife and children. The warlock left without a word, and it is believed that he was killed by Orcs or a dragon, others say that he is still alive and is plotting his revenge by rallying armies of orcs, dark elves, and dragons. The mountain is still off limits.

  Needless to say, Verance believed that he starved to death, therefore he believed that the mountain was off limits for other reasons. A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead, he wished there was some form of shade on the edge of the town, but alas, there wasn’t a tree in sight. Verance stood, picking up the baby-sized shovel and began digging again.

  “Hey!”


End file.
